


Breaking and Entering

by Kryptaria, rayvanfox



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Spoilers for Skyfall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-03
Updated: 2015-03-06
Packaged: 2018-03-16 02:45:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3471443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kryptaria/pseuds/Kryptaria, https://archiveofourown.org/users/rayvanfox/pseuds/rayvanfox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which an agent returns from the dead, finds a stray burglar, and falls in what might just be love, despite the dog's help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jennybel75](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jennybel75/gifts).



> Happy birthday, Jennybel!
> 
> And thanks to our last-minute, as-we-wrote-it betas: ahappilee, scriptrixlatinae, and zephyrfox!

MI6 secure housing apparently wasn’t so bloody secure — at least, not for the twenty-first century. No hand or retinal scanner. Nowhere to swipe an ID card so new it still smelled of melted plastic. Not even a bloody keypad to enter his ID number. Just three deadbolts. _Three_. And here was the new Quartermaster of MI-fucking-Six without so much as a paperclip to pick the locks, much less the key he’d been issued. A key that had apparently been stolen by his oh-so-helpful brother who was headed back to Q’s old, insecure flat outside Baskerville to start packing.

“Well, shit,” he said, looking down at the saluki puppy at his side. She was tall and gangly, with silky black and white fur that was scraggly on her tail and paws — a side effect of her love of playing in mud puddles. She wagged her tail and opened her jaws so her tongue lolled out at him. At least someone was amused.

Q took his brand new secure smartphone from his pocket. It was just after six in the evening, which meant the key was at least an hour outside of London, heading west at almost two hundred kilometres per hour. If Q sent a text, assuming he could bypass MI6’s security protocols to text an unsecured line, he _might_ have the key back in another ninety minutes. Or he could go back to MI6 and request another key. He’d have the privilege of explaining the walking security risk that was his brother, followed by the honour of being the first MI6 executive to be sacked after less than a day.

A fat drop of water splattered on the screen, and Q shoved the mobile back in his pocket. Stupidly, he looked up in time for the rain to begin in earnest, making him blink and hunch into his anorak.

Bloody _perfect_ timing.

Shivering, Q zipped up his jacket the last inch and went to check the window. Unfortunately, it was unusually thick glass and fixed in place. Maybe the upstairs windows could slide open, but Q wasn’t a field agent to go scaling building walls for fun. Worst case, he’d go to a pub and look pathetic until the barman let him use a phone to text his brother.

First though, he’d check the back garden. With any luck, the previous residents had broken security protocols and left a key under a flowerpot.

 

~~~

 

Bloody _awful_ timing.

James hunched further into his peacoat as the rain started falling, the high collar only just barely keeping the fat drops off his neck. He stood on the deserted pavement and stared dourly up at the “secure” housing that was supposed to be his new home. Less than an hour ago, M had notified him of such, then unceremoniously dropped the key into his hand and kicked him out of her office. Such a bloody jolly homecoming.

Granted, James couldn’t complain that his flat had been sold since he’d been dead for three months; it was just inconvenient to have to start over in a new spot. He’d have to set up all new security measures and then warn Alec of the pitfalls. What a mess. At least he was lucky enough to have that thieving bastard as his best friend. It was the only way James still had any of his belongings — Alec had squirreled the important things away in an unassuming storage unit before the auction.

All James had now was an overnight bag of things he’d brought with him from Greece, and his new ID card and keys to the terraced house.

A _terraced house._

James sighed and shook his head as he walked up the front steps. Then he shook it some more at the feeble “security” measures on the front door. Three deadbolts? Child’s play. So much for feeling safe tonight.

He gave the house a thorough search from top to bottom, front to back, ensuring that at least the place had started out empty of assassins. Then he took the bottle of duty free scotch he’d bought at the airport out of his bag, searched through the cupboards to find some glassware, and poured out a generous portion.

“Welcome home, James,” he said flatly, as he raised his glass.

After just his first swallow, he heard a horrible whooshing, woofing, _wooing_ sound coming from the back garden, and he cursed himself for not securing the perimeter. This was what he got for moving into a bloody terraced house instead of a safe flat ten storeys up.

He slipped silently out back, gun drawn, and looked over the low brick wall to see what looked like a gigantic, wet, black and white rat with long, skinny, gazelle-like legs and a furry whip of a tail. It was running in circles, throwing mud and grass up from its paws, singing a distressed howl — or howling a distressed song.

It was a saluki, James realised — purebred by the look of it, and very expensive if so. At first, James wondered if it was lost. Then it charged headlong across the garden, right for the house next door —

Where a pair of legs was sticking out of the wall.

_What the hell?_

James disengaged the safety of his gun and moved as quietly as possible to where he’d have a clear shot. It looked as though someone was halfway through the back wall of the house, on their knees, their arse left almost negligently out in the rain. It was a very sweet, perky arse, and James caught himself smirking at how the fabric of the person's wet trousers conformed to its shape. _Delicious._

He moved his thumb to put the safety back on when he realised that he was witnessing someone break into a house — the house next door to his own — and that he needed to do something about it, gorgeous arse and hyperactive saluki notwithstanding.

He made it two steps back towards the gate when the saluki let out a heartbreaking yowl and leaped _on_ that perky arse. The attached human let out a yowl of their own, and the startled saluki yelped and bolted away at top speed.

“Well done, mate,” James muttered under his breath, glad to see that even a purebred could act as a guard dog. He holstered his gun at the back of his jeans and vaulted over the wall, landing unsteadily on the slick grass. He whistled piercingly and shouted, “Oi! Here!” then clapped his hands for the dog to come to him. It was worth giving the intruder warning to save that beautiful arse from a saluki bite.

 _“Agh!”_ shouted the human attached to that arse as the saluki doubled back and ran right over him to get to James. The rain was coming down hard now, but that was nothing compared to the spray from the bounding saluki’s fur as the dog sideswiped James’ jeans, spun around — leaving a tail-shaped bruise across both of James’ thighs — and then leaped up to put its paws on James’ peacoat. Mud smeared everywhere as the saluki went _woooo_ right in his face.

“For fuck’s sake, _I’m_ not the one breaking in,” James groused as he grabbed hold of the dog’s collar and yanked the beast off of him. “Down, pup.” He held tight to the collar and kept the saluki at his side, drawing his gun in case the owner of the arse decided to try anything. He raised his voice and called, “All right, now you. Come on.”

“What?” the burglar asked, followed by what sounded like “river.” Then, more sharply: “Who’s there?”

The dog _wooed_ and leaned against James so suddenly — so _heavily_ — that he staggered. He held on tighter and managed to stay upright, only to have the dog shove its muzzle between the folds of his peacoat and right into his crotch.

There were some places that a _woo_ should never happen, at least not with a dog, and that was definitely one of them. Cold, wet fur seeped into James’ jeans in the heartbeat it took for him to juggle his gun, the peacoat, and the dog.

“River?” the burglar shouted again.

The saluki swung its head around and _wooed_ at the burglar, trying to bound out of James’ grasp, and for a second he wondered if the dog was responding to its name. Who on earth would name their dog River? And why would a burglar work with a loud, overly enthusiastic _dog?_

But more importantly at the moment, James realised said burglar still hadn’t moved from their place halfway through what was now clearly a dog door. In disbelief, James called, “Are you... stuck?”

_“No!”_

The arse gave an enticing wiggle. The saluki let out a _“Woo.”_

The burglar’s “Um” was almost lost under the sound of traffic out front. Then, somewhat louder, he said, “Perhaps?”

James huffed a laugh and stepped forward, bringing River — or being brought along by River, whose legs were flailing at a dead-out run despite James trying to keep them at a slow walk — as he said, “What a bloody awful burglar.”

When the burglar thrashed his legs, James’ eyes went from that perfect arse to his feet. Scuffed Converse that were a blend of mud and scarlet fabric, and black socks with what looked like a pattern in gold. James couldn’t help but lean in a little closer. His sartorial experience told him to expect the gold would probably be lozenges or perhaps ducks. His pop culture knowledge informed him they were actually the insignia from _Star Trek_.

“I’m not a bloody _burglar_ ,” the strange burglar insisted with another petulant kick. “I’m — Bloody hell, just — I need to turn sideways, only the damned door’s installed too high. Give us a boost, will you?”

James gawped for a second. “A _boost?_ I’m not going to help you into someone’s—” Something hot and wet snaked around his wrist, causing him to yelp and jump and let go of River’s collar. It was the dog’s tongue, and the moment it was free, the saluki attacked his hand with even more enthusiasm, tickling James to the point of making his toes curl. “Jesus, pup. Shove off.”

“Watch how you talk to her!” the burglar scolded with another muddy kick.

“Oi, be nice before I take you into custody — both of you.” James was tempted to kick back, but he simply put his hands into his coat pockets, effectively hiding the gun in the process.

That got him a repeat of “I’m not a bloody burglar!” The arse gave a twist, though the burglar was right: the doggie door was installed a good six inches off the ground, and he had no leverage to hold himself sideways — not in the mud, at any rate. “Who the hell are you? You haven’t identified yourself.”

James wasn’t ready to divulge any personal information. “I live next door. What are you doing breaking in if you aren’t a burglar?”

“I’m — If you live next door, _where do you work?_ ” the burglar asked suspiciously.

“Vauxhall,” James said, just as suspiciously, until he thought about how M had described this block of houses, making it sound like a landing place for all of MI6’s strays. “You?”

Some of the tension left what James could see of the perhaps-not-a-burglar’s body. “Just transferred to London from Baskerville.”

 _Right._ If there was anything more secret than the Secret Intelligence Service, it was what went on in Baskerville. “All right, come on.” James reached down to take hold of the possible-resident-of-the-house’s hips. The bones were sharper than James had expected; no wonder why they’d expected to be able to break in through the dog door — no meat at all. Hunching a shoulder to shield himself from the curious saluki, James said, “Twist to the left and push back towards me.”

Together, with the saluki helping in a very unhelpful yet muddy way, they managed to ungracefully extract the ex-Baskerville geek from the wall. A splash of mud, another sharp twist, and James found himself looking down at a slender, absolutely filthy young man with skewed glasses and curly, wet hair sticking in every direction.

The most brilliant hazel-grey-blue eyes James had ever seen blinked. Twice. Then, calmly, the young man said, “Oh, hello, 007. I’m your new Quartermaster.”

All James could come up with in response was, “You must be joking.” Not only was the circumstance of their meeting absurd, but the Quartermaster’s youth and beauty were just as out of the ordinary. He frowned down at the young man disbelievingly, completely ignoring the saluki as it insistently pushed to get between them.

“I’m —” The impossible Quartermaster sat up, or tried to. The saluki blocked him, and he twisted to his side to evade the sharp dart of that long, wet tongue. As he pushed up to all fours in the mud, he said, “No. Grab my coat, will you? My identity card’s in the pocket.”

James dragged his eyes away from that perfect arse and looked around. He found an anorak hanging on the back doorknob and brought it over to the Quartermaster, with the saluki trotting at his side the whole time. He held up the coat, then paused and tilted his head. “I’d offer to help you into this, but you’d ruin it with all that mud. Can’t you get inside?”

“My bro—uh, no keys.” The Quartermaster got to his feet, rubbing at his bare arms — and what in hell was he doing wearing short sleeves in this weather? “I’ll have to go back to the office. Get another copy. Can River stay with you? I hate to subject her to the Tube during rush hour.”

“You can’t go into the office looking like that.” James absently gestured towards his house and offered, “Come in and dry off and get warm. I can get you in here later to change.”

When the Quartermaster nodded, his hair flopped into his face. It was a terrible haircut, especially for a professional, and undeniably adorable. He gave James a shy smile and said, “I should refuse, but I may freeze to death. But River — she needs a bath. She’ll ruin your carpets.”

James smiled back and said, “There must be a towel somewhere she can ruin. But to be fair, you both could use a hot bath.”

“I hate to impose. I can — _River!_ ” the Quartermaster yelped as the overenthusiastic saluki got right in front of him and stopped in her tracks. Only James’ quick reflexes kept the Quartermaster from falling back into the mud. The Quartermaster shot James an embarrassed look but didn’t pull his arm free of James’ grasp. “Thank you. I’m sorry. She’s just a puppy.”

“It’s fine.” James smiled and stepped closer to the Quartermaster, keeping a firm hand on his elbow to help navigate the mud in shoes with no traction. “Though I hope you weren’t wanting her as a guard dog, because she’s rubbish at it. Great at making friends, though. Right, pup?”

River took that as a sign to go run in circles. The Quartermaster laughed unsteadily and leaned against James’ arm, getting mud all over the sleeve of James’ peacoat. “Did you know they’re hunting dogs? My brother ‘rescued’ her. She was in a gem-studded collar and had her toenails painted pink. Now, look at her.”

There was barely a hint of black or white on her entire body, just the greyish brown of the mud that plagued them all. James chuckled as he led them to the back gate and into the lane behind their houses. “Let’s get you both inside before you cause any more trouble.”

The Quartermaster tipped his head to give James a sidelong, assessing look. “You’re being suspiciously kind. Your file implies you don’t know how, unless it’s to get closer to a target. If you’re planning to eliminate me, will you at least wait until I’ve had that hot bath?”

If the Quartermaster had actually read James’ file, he’d know that it was more likely James would sleep with a target than kill them, but it wasn’t his place to bring something like that up with an executive — well, not at their first meeting. Or at least not before the bath and possibly a drink.

“Never fear, I promise to give you a running start.” James knew his smile was just a bit too shark-like, but he made up for it by raising his eyebrows invitingly.

“Bugger that. I’ve seen what you do to runners. Just take care of River after I’m gone.” The Quartermaster’s expression turned stern. “Raw food diet. And not what you eat. Actual food, not scotch. She’s still a baby.”

James scoffed as he let them in his own back gate. “I’ve never given scotch to a dog in my life.” The moment the words were out of his mouth, he realised they were a lie. “Except to put it to sleep for espionage purposes.”

“Or to sneak into a married woman’s house while her husband’s away.” The Quartermaster smirked knowingly.

“Sneak? I don’t sneak; I’m given keys,” James said as he pulled his own set from his coat pocket.

The moment he spotted the keys, the Quartermaster’s smirk vanished. “007... What are the chances MI6’s ‘secure’ houses all have locks that are keyed identically?”

Quietly horrified by the idea, James grimaced and said, “Honestly, I’d rather not know. Come in and let’s keep up the fiction that we’re safe a little bit longer.” He let go of the Quartermaster to unlock the back door and ushered him and River inside.

 

~~~

 

Everything about the house screamed comforting neutrality. It was nice enough to be cosy and bland enough that Q didn’t feel bad getting mud everywhere — especially not when River took off into the kitchen at a dead run that ended with a leg-sprawling skid after three steps. When she hit the wall, there was an audible _splat_.

“Please tell me MI6 has a good carpet cleaning service,” Q said, glancing at 007 again, even though he told himself to _stop_. The file photos did 007 no justice at all. In Q’s mind, the returned-from-the-dead agent had been a series of numbers and statistics. Height and weight were far less critical than aptitude scores and post-mission assessment metrics.

His file should’ve come with a bloody warning label: Do not look into subject’s brilliant blue eyes. Do not admire subject’s charming smile. Dizziness and irrational thoughts may result.

“If they don’t, I do. I’ll manage just fine.” 007 smiled at Q, then turned to River and softened his voice to call, “Here, pup. Sit with Dad for a moment while I grab a towel.”

Q’s dignity was already in tatters. Resigned, he sat down on the floor and intercepted River as she half-ran, half-skidded towards her new best friend. Q pulled her into his lap and smiled up at 007. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” James smiled again, utterly charming, and turned to rifle through the kitchen drawers, only to come up with a tea towel a few moments later. He tossed it over to Q, saying, “Nothing here is mine, yet, so I don’t really mind.”

“By all means, let’s ruin the” — Q had to pause a moment to try and think what this sort of thing was called — “safehouse budget for the year.” He took off his glasses and reached up to set them on the counter. If he tried to dry them now, he’d scratch the lenses with all that mud.

As Q began rubbing River down, 007 ran the water in the sink, then picked up the glasses to hold them under the stream. “In my experience, safehouses are three times as safe as these bloody things they’ve stuck us in.”

“Careful. The lenses are anti-glare,” Q said before realising he was being fussy. He was in London now, not the arse-end of nowhere. If 007 scratched the glasses, Q could get replacements in a matter of hours. “Sorry. And this is only temporary — for both of us, I’d imagine. I’m supposed to find a house, but hell if I have any idea where to find one that meets the security guidelines. Detached property, well-lit, maintained landscaping. Only a handful of neighbourhoods are on the approved list, you know, and every one is ridiculously priced. And I’m sorry. Again.”

“You can afford Hampstead Heath on an executive salary, can’t you?” 007 turned from the sink and blinked down at Q. “Never mind. My turn to apologise. Let’s get you both clean.” He gestured toward the front of the house.

Q looked down at the tea towel in his hands. It was just as muddy as River, who wasn’t noticeably cleaner or dryer. “I really do appreciate this,” he said, extracting himself from under River, who oozed off him and into a furry puddle on the floor. The one thing she loved more than mud was being petted, even with a towel in the way. He stepped carefully over her. “I don’t even have anything with me. My one suitcase is locked in my hotel room — no key to that, either. I have no clothes, no food for River, not even a bloody box of PG Tips.”

James raised an eyebrow. “We can worry about all of that later. Get clean and dry while I run out to the shops.” He took gentle hold of Q’s elbow and guided him towards the stairs.

“Oh, you don’t have to go to such trouble,” Q protested, taking his glasses from Bond’s hand. He’d clean the lenses later, if he could find a soft enough cloth. “If I can just get warm and dry... I need to go get food for River. Or maybe just get something delivered. If that’s allowed. Is that allowed?”

“I suspect not,” 007 said with an apologetic smile. “And it’s no trouble. I need some things myself. I just this moment moved in.” He gave Q a gentle shove to the foot of the stairs and pointed up. “First door on your right. Take your time.”

“River!” Q called, hoping she wasn’t doing something horrible in the kitchen. She was actually expert at opening cupboards. She ran out, finding better traction on the hallway carpet than the kitchen tile. Q caught her by the scruff and told James, “I’ll take her with me to minimise the chaos. Thank you again, 007.”

“James, please. We’re neighbours.”

Q smiled at that thought before he could remind himself that they were not just very temporary neighbours but also co-workers. And while James’ file said he was prone to taking lovers based on opportunity and usefulness, rather than gender, Q wasn’t going to make any assumptions. There wouldn’t be so many memos about 007’s flirtation with women if he didn’t have a marked preference.

Not that any of those thoughts helped. He smiled even more and said, “Thank you, James. I’m, ah, supposed to go by ‘Q’ now. Security and all that.”

“Of course, Q. A pleasure. Enjoy your bath.”

“Clearly you’ve never bathed with company,” Q said thoughtlessly.

James grinned. “Not the canine sort, no.” His grin went lopsided, and an eyebrow inched up as he added, “But I won’t be gone long.”

Q turned away before James could notice the blush he felt creeping up his cheeks. He’d never been good at flirting — at talking at all, really — and he was woefully unprepared for any of the Double O agents, much less the notorious 007. With one last “thanks,” he headed up the stairs, dragging River along with him, and he didn’t breathe easily until the bathroom door was closed at his back.

Of all the fucking ways to meet his primary agent...


	2. Chapter 2

James listened at the bottom of the stairs as Q coaxed River into the bathroom and, by the sliding, bumping sound, into the bathtub, before he went to find two things: Q’s anorak and his own neglected glass of scotch. He found both in the kitchen and emptied them of their contents. The first yielded only a brand new Tube farecard, a wet leather dog lead, some change, and a wallet with no IDs save the newly-issued MI6 one, and a single blank bank card that MI6 issued for unreported expenses. The second made him pleasantly buzzed.

The whisky must have gone to his head because he hadn’t stopped moving for what felt like days. He hadn’t eaten and he’d barely slept — hadn’t even had a chance to shave since arriving back in the country — and the constant pain in his shoulder was more fatiguing than he was willing to admit. But now he had a stray to look after, and that was easier than paying attention to how he was falling apart. Of course, first order of business was getting both of them something hot to eat and drink. Also, the dog. Something for the damned dog.

At least this was better than rattling around the empty house and drinking himself into a stupor before having to run a battery of tests tomorrow. A pretty little distraction like Q would keep James out of his head, and if he was lucky, deeply seated in his body later. Not that James would press for anything sexual, not with an exec, but it was a welcome preoccupation. The image of what Q would look like naked and lounging in a hot bath would accompany him to the shops and back, making it a very pleasant trip indeed, despite the rain.

James wiped as much mud off his coat as he could, then left the house, locking Q inside as securely as possible. He did a quick shop of the essentials, adding tea to the list for good measure, and at the last minute remembered to get a marrow bone from the butcher. Loaded up with carrier bags, he failed at stealthily letting himself back in the front door, but the woos coming from upstairs sounded happy, not distressed.

“Honey, I’m home,” he whispered snarkily, then raised his voice to call up the stairs, “I’m back, and there will be tea in a minute...”

When there was no immediate answer, James shrugged and headed for the kitchen to unload his burden and fill and turn on the kettle. He needed coffee more than he needed the company of a young, untested Quartermaster. MI6 was in a shambles, and he’d come back to help M. Anything else was distraction.

He had the shopping put away and both coffee and tea brewed by the time he heard the upstairs door open. “Double O — _No!_ ” the Quartermaster shouted, followed by a series of thumps like the rumble of thunder.

Saluki versus stairs, James suspected, with the stairs the winner. He left off pouring himself coffee to peer down the hallway, just in time for River to gather herself from the foot of the stairs and _woo_ at him as she headed headlong into the kitchen at a full tilt. She looked gorgeous after a bath and a brushing — possibly even a blow-drying, given the fluff and gloss of her coat.

“Hello, pup. Aren’t you beautiful?” He held out his hands to avoid a dog-skull to the crotch and hummed in pleasure at her softness. With a delighted _woo_ , she went boneless and melted into a puddle, forcing him to drop to a crouch to keep petting her. She nearly took out one of his eyes when she twisted onto her back and splayed out her legs.

From upstairs, the Quartermaster called, “Er, 007?”

Snapping to, James remembered his hosting duties and walked to the foot of the stairs. “Yes, Q?”

All he could see of the Quartermaster was a sliver of pale skin — a shoulder? — and a mop of wet hair with one eye peeking out from under the fringe. “I, er... Well, all my clothes are something of a wreck...”

“Oh, of course.” James blinked as he climbed the stairs, trying to not let that tantalizing bit of skin derail his train of thought. “Give them here, and I can throw them in the wash.”

Q disappeared into the bathroom. When he reappeared, bumping the door open with one elbow, he was half-hidden behind a towel-wrapped bundle in his arms. “I very much appreciate this. And much as I hate to ask, if you’ve got anything I can wear, er, temporarily...”

 _Right._ James was tempted — so very tempted — to say he didn’t, just so he’d have the pleasure of looking at Q in nothing but a towel for the next hour. But then he remembered how wet and cold Q had been and how little insulation he had on his rail-thin body, and he relented. He reached for the bundle of clothes with a sheepish smile and said, “I doubt anything I have will fit, but give me a moment.”

Q’s smile was easy and relaxed. “Thank you,” he said before he disappeared back into the bathroom, closing the door most of the way.

James made himself stop smiling and turned, only to flinch back a bare instant before River’s muzzle could hit his crotch with devastating force. Her tail whipped from side to side like a flag caught in a storm, a glory of black and white fur that blurred into a haze of grey. Apparently, she _liked_ him.

“All right, pup. Come on.” He carried the bundle of clothes to the all-in-one washer/dryer — one of those which never got the clothes dry — and dumped the lot in. He hadn’t thought of washing powder, but a warm rinse and a cursory dry before hanging things over the heater would be a far sight better than nothing.

Once the machine was on — a development which made River bark at it in brief distress — he headed to the bedroom to rifle through his overnight bag to see if it held anything Q could wear. River leaped onto the bed and started trying to dig her way into the duvet, spinning in circles as she did. “Down, pup.” When she didn’t listen, he raised and hardened his voice and commanded, “River, down.”

Unless her abrupt collapse into a furry puddle was some strange form of doggie obedience, she was ignoring him. She even went so far as to shove her muzzle under a fold of the now-rumpled duvet before wrapping her tail around herself. Only her feet stuck out from under the silky fur. “You’re hopeless, mate.” Bond shook his head and went back to his mess of clothes and essentials in his bag.

He pulled out a lightweight collared shirt, much better suited for tropical weather than the cold rain of London, and a pair of twill trousers that had fit him well, so hopefully they wouldn’t fall off Q’s hips. Sniffing them to make sure they were relatively clean, he tried once again to make River get down before giving up and heading back to the bathroom. He knocked lightly on the unlatched door, which swung open a few inches.

Q had one towel around his waist and another over his shoulders. His glasses were back in place, hair finger-combed back in messy waves. “I’m not certain they’ll come clean,” he said, focused entirely on the sink, where he was trying to rinse the mud off his Converse. “Can these be washed? Don’t you put trainers in the dishwasher? Or is that ball caps?”

It took James a moment to find his voice and tell himself not to stare. “Ball caps, I believe. And I don’t have a dishwasher.” He remembered to offer the clothes in his hands but it took him another moment to add, “I hope these fit.”

“Oh, anything will — _Bugger,_ ” Q said, dropping the wet, muddy shoe. He frowned and looked at James, asking, “They’ll expect me to wear shoes to the office, won’t they?”

James could feel his professional, hosting facade crack and fall away as he looked at the pathetic, adorable creature he’d accidentally adopted. “Don’t worry about that now. Just get dressed. There’s tea downstairs.”

With a radiant smile, Q asked, “You’re not nearly the force for disorder and evil they say you are, are you?” He took the clothes from James’ hands.

“Not at the moment. I’m saving it up.” James smiled tightly and told himself to leave, now he had no reason to stay in the foggy, warm bathroom with the most beautiful man he’d met in ages. Q’s skin was flushed from the hot water, and his eyes were dazzling even behind the thick, dark frames, and James needed to leave. Turn away. Go downstairs. _Go, James._

“So _that’s_ what the memo meant,” Q said, smile turning sly. He set the clothes down on the counter. “Thank you again, 007.”

James opened his mouth to speak but had to clear his throat first. “James, please. You’ve showered in my bathroom; we can at least be on a first name basis.” He stepped closer involuntarily, and then realised he shouldn’t have moved within reach. “And what was that about a memo?”

“Just a warning about you. ‘Doesn’t play well with others.’ ‘Disregard for rules and authority.’ And something about frequent setting of fires,” Q added, quirking a brow up curiously.

Raising his hands placatingly, James said innocently, “That last one’s not me. That’s 006. I’ve never met someone so fire-prone as Alec.”

“I thought you two were interchangeable.” Q’s gaze flicked down, then back up. “Perhaps not.”

“If you need a side-by-side comparison...” James paused, realising he was getting in over his head. This was his _Quartermaster,_ after all. He backed up as he continued, “I’m sure that could be arranged. But for now...” He gestured down the hall as he reached the door, hoping to make a clean escape.

“Isn’t 006 on assignment in San Francisco? There’s a venture capital fund there with ties to —” Q stopped with a little shrug. “Well, we’ll go over that once you’re cleared for active duty again.” A plaintive note crept into his voice as he asked, “For now, you mentioned tea?”

James inhaled slowly, his standard trick to keep from sighing. “Downstairs. Once you’re dressed.” He left the bathroom, congratulating himself on his narrow miss, then whistled sharply as he headed to the staircase. Of course, the damned untrained saluki had abandoned him for the comfort of the bed. _Bugger._ There were so many better uses for that bed.

 

~~~

 

 _Bugger_. Q sagged back against the bathroom door letting his weight latch it closed, and let out a very shaky sigh. With every step 007 — _James_ — had taken, Q had been increasingly tempted to rush at him and steal a kiss, which Q _never_ did. But that damned smirk and those brilliant eyes and the laugh that sent tingles all through Q’s body...

He’d been better off trapped in the bloody dog door. Dying of exposure — or, well, half-exposure — was better than death by embarrassment. He was _not_ going to snog one of his agents. And if he was it bloody well wouldn’t be one of the two agents considered the most hazardous to careers, mental sanity, and emotional wellbeing.

But it was tempting. So very tempting. The man was walking temptation.

It took a couple of deep breaths for Q to finally remember the clothes — _James’_ clothes — and start to get dressed. And it took quite a few more for Q to stop thinking about those clothes on James’ body, then _off_ his body.

Which made no sense. Q was _never_ this distracted, and certainly not by a pretty face — or one that wasn’t quite so pretty as it was full of character and life and sly promises of physical bliss.

Q shook his head and shoved his wet hair back out of his face so he could glare at himself in the mirror. What the hell was wrong with him? Had it really been _that long_ since he’d last dated?

A quick mental calculation gave him a depressing answer: Yes, it had.

Wonderful. Now he was locked in with the walking embodiment of chaos and temptation (hell if he could remember which of the old pagan gods that one was, but mythology had never been his strong suit) _and_ he was utterly unprepared to go to his first full day on the job tomorrow. What else could go wrong?

Nothing. _Nothing_ was going to go wrong at all, in fact, because that was precisely what Q was going to do with his tempting agent: nothing.

Resolved, Q finally put the bathroom to rights as best he could, left his shoes to dry on the edge of the bathtub, and padded downstairs, wishing he at least had socks. He felt terribly vulnerable without them, as if somehow their lack made this more intimate than one neighbour helping out another.

Downstairs, he found James staring out the window and drinking coffee with a bottle of scotch on the table next to him. He turned as Q entered the kitchen and looked assessingly at his body, from bare feet to soft collar. “They fit all right?”

“Oh, yes. Fine,” Q lied politely. He had to surreptitiously pull up the trousers as he sat down, or they would’ve ended up somewhere around his knees. They were only an inch too big around the waist, but that inch was critical. “Where’s River?”

James smiled as he stood up and reached for his own waist. “Making herself at home on the bed. I should have thought of a belt. Here, take mine.”

The moment James’ fingers touched the belt buckle, Q panicked. Removing the belt was one step towards removing the jeans, which was two steps towards a career-ruining disaster. “No!” Q shook his head and told himself not to go yelping at his host. “Really, that’s quite all right.”

James froze, and in a quiet voice he said, “Of course. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to...”

His voice trailed off, and Q swore silently at himself for offending James. Quickly, he said, “Really, they’re fine. Perfect. And the shirt’s very soft.” As soon as it came out, he realised he’d gone back to sounding like an arse and shut his mouth, but the damage was done.

James nodded and stepped away, over to the counter near the sink. He poured a mug of tea and brought it to the table. “Milk? I didn’t think to buy sugar...”

Hiding a wince, Q said, “No, thank you. Black is fine. I really am sorry to impose. This was all so...” — he tried to think of a polite way to phrase his perception of MI6 earlier that day — “ _last minute_.”

“You mean chaotic.” James slid back into his seat and picked up his mug. “It’s been a shock. Major Boothroyd was a good man, and no matter who fills his shoes, we’ll feel the loss of him for some time. Don’t take it personally.” He nudged the scotch bottle closer to Q, his eyebrows up.

Don’t take it personally? How could he _not_ take it personally? He’d been brought in from the outside to replace Major Boothroyd because M — and, more importantly, Gareth Mallory — didn’t trust anyone inside Q Branch. Q was the executioner’s axe brought in to mow down anyone with even slightly questionable loyalty.

This definitely called for scotch, though he was certain it was a bad decision. Still, it didn’t stop him from adding a generous splash to his tea, despite how the alcohol stung his sinuses and the back of his throat.

James leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table, his hands around his mug. “You’re good at your job, or M wouldn’t have hired you. You’re resourceful and smart and kind to the underdog. You keep your head in a crisis _and_ you can keep your voice calm. You’ll be _fine,_ Q.”

“How do you know?” Q scoffed, frowning at James. Since Gareth had called to let him know he was being considered for the job, he’d been reading every unclassified document he could get his hands on. He knew that field agents, for all their skill with guns or knives, were masters at manipulating _people_. “You’re just saying that” took on all sorts of new meanings when dealing with them.

Something softened around James’ eyes as he said, “I know because I just witnessed all of those things. And I trust M with my life. Even now. If she trusts you enough to put me in your hands, that’s all I need to know.”

“You pulled me out of a dog door when I failed to force my way past three simple deadbolts. In the rain and mud, no less. Not a very promising start to a glorious career in espionage.”

“You weren’t outfitted with the correct equipment, so that’s not a fair assessment. I’d never have been given that mission without a set of lockpicks, issued to me by my Quartermaster.” James laid his hand flat on the table. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Q.”

“I _had_ lockpicks, you know,” Q said, glancing around. He remembered James bringing his anorak inside, but he had no idea where it was, and that was bad. His MI6 ID card was in there. Of course, if 007 couldn’t be trusted with it, who could? “A breakaway emergency set disguised as a very hideous business card. It was confiscated, along with everything else in my wallet, when I accepted the job, and I forgot to ask for it back.”

“See?” James’s smile was kindly. “Resourceful, smart, and bloody creative. Don’t judge the future success of your career on one rainy evening with an overactive saluki pup.”

Q laughed. “Yes, but it’s still a bloody awful —” He cut off, only then remembering what James had said about River, and he quickly shoved his chair back and stood. “She’s on your bed? Shit. Let me get her. She’s just faking exhaustion to get attention.”

“If that’s all it takes, let me tell you how exhausting it is to be dead.” James grinned, his eyes gleaming. “I don’t mind. Drink your tea. She’ll come down when she’s bored, won’t she?”

“Assuming you don’t have any food hidden away under your pillows...” Despite his misgivings, Q settled down again. He was warm, all except for his bare feet, and the tea was helping soothe his frayed nerves. “At least she doesn’t smell of wet dog anymore. I did have to break into the toiletries in the cabinet. It looks like someone looted a hotel’s stash. It took a dozen of those little miniature shampoo bottles to get the mud out of her fur, you know.”

James smiled. “There’s never a lack of those in my life, so I’m glad you put them to use. She looks beautiful, all done up.” He finished off his coffee and set the mug down. “Supper? I stopped at the butcher to pick up a marrow bone and some ground beef for River, and they had some very nice steaks.”

“Are you offering to cook?” Q asked hopefully. “I’m rubbish at cooking. And I haven’t had a good steak in _years_.”

“Then yes, I am, because that’s one thing I can do well.” James stood and headed to the fridge. “Any allergies or restrictions I should know about?”

“None at all. I usually don’t even pay attention to what I’m eating, truth be told. The canteen at Baskerville...” Q winced at the memory. “You don’t mind cooking? You’ve done so much for me already.”

James had opened the fridge so Q couldn’t see his face, but his amused voice carried over to the table. “I tugged on your hips, let you into my house, and told you to take a shower. Such hard work.” He emerged with the steaks and Brussels sprouts, set them on the counter, then reached into a nearby cupboard to pull out potatoes and onions. “And now I’m hungry, so while I’m at it, I might as well make enough for two. Care to open that bottle of red?” He nodded toward a wine bottle on the counter near the stove.

“You _really_ didn’t have to go all out,” Q said, though he couldn’t deny the little glow of pleasure that filled him. He would’ve been content ordering takeaway, then borrowing a paperclip so he could break into his own empty house for the night. He abandoned his tea and went to search through drawers, hoping there was a wine opener somewhere.

“I’m making the simplest recipe imaginable. If I were to go all out, you’d be in a dinner suit, and we’d be headed to _Le Gavroche._ ” James looked over from rinsing the vegetables in the sink, and raised one cheeky eyebrow.

“I don’t even know what a ‘gavroche’ is, nor do I own a dinner suit. I’m afraid you’d have to go with someone else. Perhaps River?” Q teased, taking the opportunity to bump his shoulder against James’ as he opened the drawer beside the sink.

James let the bump push him to the side and moved his hips out of the way of the next drawer over. The space between them made Q want to fill it. “She _would_ match the colour scheme perfectly, all black and white, but I prefer a dining partner who I can talk with.”

“Salukis are sight hounds. They talk. Sometimes, I feel like she doesn’t shut up. Though I’ll admit, it’s sometimes nice to speak with an actual human,” Q said with a laugh as he finally found the wine opener. And because he was warm and happy and possibly because he was barefoot, he lowered his voice and added, “ _Very_ nice.”

James pushed the drawer in front of Q closed with his hip, his chest close enough to Q’s shoulder that the warmth coming off of him was apparent. “The pleasure’s all mine, Q.”

Well, _that_ was clear, even to someone who spent more time with computers than with living, breathing people. Q spared a moment’s thought to his new job and to the “problem” agent with him, then decided he didn’t give a rat’s arse. If James wanted to ruin the new Quartermaster’s career, he was probably capable of finding far more painful ways to do so than seduction.

It really had been a _very_ long time.

So Q dropped the wine opener on the counter and turned, putting himself eye-to-eye with his agent. His neighbour. His incredibly attractive neighbour. “Then I insist you share,” he said — and he was bloody proud his voice came out so calmly, because his hands shook just a little bit as he settled them on James’ hips.

And because Q was never very good at knowing if he was being clear without actually putting things in writing, he decided to leave no room for doubt at all.


	3. Chapter 3

The kiss caught James off guard. Not because he wasn’t ready for it — Q had given him time to see it coming — but because it was unexpected. James had been sure it would take another couple hours and a couple glasses of wine for Q to unwind enough to let James kiss him, if it were to happen at all. But this...

This was interested and enthusiastic and the opposite of coy. It was, in fact, the way James preferred to enter into a dalliance, even if it was rarely the way mission seductions panned out. Not that James thought of this in any way as a mission — it was happening in his own home, for one, which as almost never the way even his personal seductions progressed. The novelty of the whole situation was captivating, as long as he ignored the part where Q was technically his superior.  

But it felt _good,_ and James was tired and worried and in pain, and not having to think was a welcome gift. All he had to do was feel and respond and enjoy this more-than-pleasant, more-than-surprising turn of events.

For the moment, all he could focus on was the three points of contact between himself and Q — their mouths, and Q’s hands on his hips. As he let Q explore his mouth, he added one more point, lifting his hand to brush his fingers along Q’s jaw and then bury them in the hair at the back of Q’s neck. Q sighed into the kiss and leaned forward, pressing his chest to James’. His hands slid to the small of James’ back, fingers hooking around his waistband.

The kiss never stopped. Even when Q backed off, it was to lick at James’ lips or tip his head the other way, as though testing, sampling, experimenting to see what worked best. James was happy to be Q’s test subject, learning along the way what Q did and didn’t like, and filing away the information for later. Because there was clearly going to be a later. Hopefully quite a few of them.

The thought made James at bit impatient, and he took hold of Q’s hip with his free hand to pivot them both and press Q’s arse against the counter. Their hips met a moment later, and James gleefully swallowed the huff of breath Q let out at the contact. Q’s hands dropped to cup James’ arse, pulling their bodies a fraction of an inch closer, and James grunted in approval.

Breathlessly, Q broke the kiss to say, “Dinner can wait, but River can’t. You said you got her a marrow bone?”

James leaned back and wiped his hand down his scruffy beard, then through his hair, trying to remember anything but Q’s body against his. “Yes. In the freezer.”

Q’s lips twitched into the start of a smile. “Would it be forward of me to ask if you have condoms?”

Eyebrow quirking up in appreciation of Q’s directness, James replied, “Possibly, but the answer is yes.” Not only did he have some left over from his time in Greece, but he’d popped into the chemist’s earlier in a fit of optimism that seemed about to pay off.

“Well, I _have_ used your shower,” Q said, smile turning sly. “Care to hold off on dinner? You fetch the condoms while I distract River off your bed.”

James smirked and said, “As you wish, Quartermaster.” He reached for the cupboard directly behind Q’s head, extracting a box of condoms and a bottle of lube from behind the tea and coffee tins. He held them up for Q to see, a cheeky grin on his face.

Q’s brows shot up, and he actually looked impressed. “Oh, well-planned, 007. So _that’s_ what the memo meant with that bit about you thinking ahead. I thought that had to do with the airplane you stole from Canada.”

“No, I...” James paused for a moment and smiled fondly at the memory. “That was quite good, actually. But this was simply because you were in the bathroom when I came home.” He leaned in to kiss the tip of Q’s nose, then stepped back to give him room.

Without a backwards glance at the vegetables in the sink or the wine on the counter, Q sidestepped and headed for the freezer. “Still, it’s good to know you can take the initiative on occasion.”

“On occasion,” James muttered, his eyes automatically seeking out Q’s arse in the too-baggy trousers. He stepped up behind Q and slid his free hand around Q’s narrow hips, noting how low the waistband really was. One sharp tug and they’d fall. “I could just fuck you right here on the counter, you know.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Q opened the freezer and picked up the marrow bone that was the only thing in there, except for an empty plastic ice cube tray. “You have a perfectly good bed, which is where I plan to fuck you. Unless you have an objection?”

James’ knees went weak from how quickly his cock stiffened in his jeans, and he backed his hips away to not thrust against Q’s arse. He bent his head to kiss the top of Q’s shoulder — and to give himself a moment to make sure his voice would behave. “None whatsoever, Quartermaster.”

 

~~~

 

 _This,_ Q thought fuzzily as gentle fingers combed through his hair, _is more than worth the risk._ Let MI6 fire him. Or, more to the point, let them bitch at him and then _not_ fire him, because they needed him every bit as much as they needed James.

“Do you realise, we could take over?” Q said absently, tipping his head up against James’ palm to meet his eyes.

“Sorry?” James blinked lazily, his eyes slowly making their way from Q’s hair to his face. James looked well-fucked and content, and Q couldn’t help feeling slightly smug. “Take over what?”

“MI6.” Q shifted, trying to get comfortable, but it wasn’t possible. The slope of James’ pectoral muscle and the bulk of his shoulder made for an uncomfortable pillow.

As Q started piling up more conventional foam pillows next to James’ shoulder, James huffed and said, “You clearly don’t know M. The phrase ‘rule with an iron fist’ was invented for her. There’s no taking over from her.”

Q laughed softly, rolling over to put his back up against James. Taking the hint, James spooned against him, wrapping him up in strong, warm arms. “She doesn’t like me very much. She thinks I’m Mallory’s pet executioner.”

James hummed questioningly. “Executioner? That’s an interesting way of putting it.”

A heartbeat later, Q realised what he’d said and where he was. James _killed_ people for less, and the threat to MI6 had come from a hacker, and —

“Shit. No. Not _me_ ,” he said, twisting around in James’ arms and trying not to overtly flinch away. He _really_ didn’t want to die, especially not in bed with the man he’d fucked not fifteen minutes ago.

Smiling blandly, James let his arms go slack, but kept them close around Q’s back. “Then try again, because I’m not following.”

“I didn’t — I mean, that’s why I was brought in, I think. To find the one who _did_ ,” Q said in a rush, try as he might to calm his racing heart and thoughts.

“Did _what,_ Q?” James’ brow was furrowed, but Q thought it was more in confusion than anger. He hoped so.

“The explosion at headquarters.” Q hesitated, wondering if this was classified or not. Everything had been so chaotic, he’d been hand-waved through most of the usual protocols. “It was done via computer. Someone hacked the environmental and chemical storage systems to manufacture the blast.”

James’ eyebrows raised, and his expression went neutral. “And can you find this person?”

“Oh, I can find —” Q stopped himself before making promises he might not be able to keep, even if there was barely a fraction of a percent chance that he’d fail. “Er. I hope to?”

“But you think you can, don’t you?” James hugged Q more tightly, looking intently into his eyes.

“Yes... I’m almost positive I can,” Q answered, and it wasn’t entirely a lie. Only the “almost” part was. He was bloody well _certain_ that he could, given enough time, resources, and freedom from the building exploding around his ears.

“Then do that. And once we’ve caught him, we can talk about taking over MI6. If we can eradicate the threats that plague her, M might actually consider letting us.” James kissed Q quickly and rolled over on his back, pulling Q on top of him.

Maybe James _wasn’t_ suspicious after all? Or maybe this was James’ way of getting more information out of him. That was the more realistic possibility, knowing what he did of James’ file. Still, relieved that the threat hadn’t manifested, Q leaned down and kissed James. “We’ll find whoever’s responsible. I’ll get you a list of what I need. And — _Oh, bugger!_ ”

James blinked. “What is it?”

“River. I can’t hear her chewing the bone anymore. She might’ve started on the furniture.”

Letting his arms fall away from Q and onto the bed, James sighed and said, “I can’t be arsed to care, especially if you have to get up. Can’t you just call her? She doesn’t like my whistle.”

“Oh, we trained her to ignore all the common commands. Anyone could just steal her,” Q said, lips twitching with amusement at the memory of how easily they’d stolen her — _rescued_ her — from her previous human. He tugged at the duvet, saying, “Let’s just... Here, it’s safer under some sort of armour.”

James looked curiously at Q but pulled the duvet over them both. Because Q was a responsible dog-person, he shifted to put himself somewhat in front of James, using his own body as a shield, and braced himself.

Then, in the most cheerful voice he could muster, he shouted, _“Pizza, River! Pizza!”_

Q had no idea where she’d been, but she thundered up the stairs at full saluki-speed. She crashed into the corner by the hallway — James flinched against Q — but it would take more than mere walls to stop her. With a victorious _woo_ , she hit the bedroom doorway, gathered herself, and sailed through the air to land on the bed, on top of them both.

James looked around Q’s shoulder and started to say something, only to get a faceful of joyous saluki as she sniffed and licked to greet them. More experienced in such matters, Q twisted around and hid against the pillows.

“Pah!” One of James’ hands slipped away from Q’s waist, and his voice was far more muffled, and quite amused, when he spoke again. “Why pizza? This enthusiasm seems unnecessary.”

Q shrugged, peeking warily out when he felt River finally flop down across their bodies. “Well, if you want to call a dog, it’s ‘here, boy!’ or ‘biscuit!’ or something. Nobody calls ‘pizza’ and expects a saluki.”

James pressed his lips to Q’s ear and whispered, “Yes, but if a saluki hears pizza and expects to _find_ pizza, aren’t we being a bit unfair?”

Q’s heart melted a little bit at the thought that 007, the fearsome MI6 assassin, had a code of ethics that forbade him to lie to a dog. Or was that morals? Q always got the two confused, perhaps because he was so sketchy on both. He twisted around without dislodging River, then gave James a kiss on the cheek.

“True. However, we’ve taught her the word for pizza is actually p-e-p-p-e-r-o-n-i,” he said, spelling it out carefully. For all her flailing limbs and lack of an attention span, River could be eerily clever. He wouldn’t put it past her to learn how to spell. “Call _that_ out, and you’re setting her expectations for pizza. With the proper toppings, of course.”

James chuckled and hugged Q close, burying his nose in the hair just behind Q’s ear. “Noted for future reference.” He breathed in slowly as if smelling and hummed on the exhale. “Speaking of food, shall I finish making dinner?”

The mere mention of food was enough to make Q’s stomach growl. He groaned and said, “Now you’ve gone and reminded me I skipped lunch. Does the canteen at MI6 always smell like that?”

Huffing in either amusement or disdain, James replied, “I’ve no idea. I avoid it like the plague.” He gently slid his torso out from under Q’s and sat up, adding, “Then again, I avoid most places in MI6. If you asked me what Medical or even Q Branch smelled like, I’d have no idea.”

Q twisted enough so he could put one arm around River, diverting her attention from James. She’d apparently adopted the wayward agent as her new best friend, which was... well, adorable. Especially since James seemed to tolerate her antics so nicely. “I do hope that’ll change now, 007. I’ve no idea what Q Branch was like before, but I intend to make it a far more welcoming place, at least for my best agents.”

“Good to know,” James said with a mild smile. He leaned in to kiss Q’s shoulder, then got out of bed. As he slid on a pair of pants, he added, “I certainly don’t plan on being a stranger. Come down and join me when the princess is ready to be moved?”

“No, I’ll come with you,” Q said as he started to wrestle his way out from under River — never an easy process. When she went boneless and limp, her weight quadrupled, in defiance of all known laws of physics. “I should make up her dinner as well. And you must promise to let me make this all up to you, maybe tomorrow? I can’t cook, but I’m excellent at takeaway.”

“You’re in charge of breakfast, then.” James was already in the doorway, but he turned to look at Q and asked artlessly, as if it were an afterthought, “You’ll stay until then, won’t you?”

Q couldn’t hide his sudden, pleased grin. He really had been expecting dinner, perhaps a bit of snogging, and then assistance breaking into his new house next door. “You don’t mind? I mean, I’d love to, but River’s used to sleeping on a bed, I’m afraid.”

“Of course she is.” James smirked and shrugged. “And I’m not, but I suppose there’s room for all three of us. Besides, it’ll take at least that long for your clothes to dry.”

 

~~~

 

James didn’t know which of his unlikely houseguests liked his cooking more: Q or River. While the saluki got her ground beef raw, Q gave her a hearty portion of brussels sprouts and the remainder of the crusty baguette, along with the fatty edge cut off his own steak.

Cooking always had the effect of calming James — unless Alec was in the kitchen — and having such a charming dinner companion helped him enjoy the food that much more. Simple ingredients cooked simply were always the most satisfying.

He’d needed something to make him feel human again, alive — back from the dead — and Q’s presence was going a long way to make that happen. James was more grateful for it than he’d ever be able to show.

The three of them ended up on the sofa, where a much more relaxed Q cuddled up under James’ arm. River sat on James’ other side, with her muzzle buried in the cushion behind his arse. Her snoring wasn’t exactly delicate and ladylike.

“This is a _much_ nicer evening than usual,” Q said as he shifted to get more comfortable against James’ side. His feet were curled up under himself, and while he wasn’t quite lying down in James’ lap, it was probably only a matter of time.

“Agreed. And definitely not what I was expecting, so thank you for getting stuck in your dog door.” James pressed Q more snugly against his side with one arm as he reached for his scotch with the other.

“I’m never going to live that down, am I?” Q asked, reaching up to steal the scotch. “If you tell anyone, I’ll have you killed. I know people.”

James watched intently as Q took a sip from his glass, those red lips curving beautifully around the rim. “Fair warning, it’s _very_ hard to kill me, but I have no intention of mentioning that to anyone. It can be our little secret.” This whole situation would have to be a secret, after all.

Q returned the glass, then curled up even tighter, ending up sliding down James’ chest to rest in his lap. River let out a sleep-bark that sounded like a broken whistle and shoved her head deeper into the sofa cushions. “I suppose 006 is the exception. That’s in your files, too. You two work best when you’re paired with each other and nowhere near anyone else. Oh, and not permitted anywhere near our allies’ borders.”

That seemed a bit unfair; the two of them were almost always fully aware of how to not outrage any allies when they worked together. Usually. Sometimes. James relented and answered as diplomatically as possible. “Alec’s the exception to everything. He’s basically family at this point. But he wouldn’t give us away, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Are you” — Q hesitated, twisting around onto his back to look up at James — “out?”

“To whom?” Alec knew everything there was to know about James, M believed sentiment was a defect, Tanner was a sphinx, and for anyone else, _everything_ about James was on a “need to know” basis.

Q blinked a couple of times, then frowned and pulled off his glasses. He tossed them onto the coffee table. “I don’t know. Anyone, I suppose. I don’t... I mean, _I_ won’t say anything, if you like.”

James reached with his free hand to comb his fingers through Q’s fringe, tugging it gently out of his eyes. “It’s less to do with you being a man than it is your Quartermaster status. Double O’s aren’t allowed preferences, and relationships outside of a mission are discouraged.”

Q’s eyes had gone wide at the word “relationship” before he caught himself and glanced away. “Well, I couldn’t give a damn about what MI6 thinks of my personal life. Baskerville would love to have me back, and _they_ couldn’t care less if I dated a bloody toaster, much less a co-worker who happens to be a man. Or an assassin.” He looked back up at James. “Or do you prefer ‘spy’?”

“Agent,” James replied, smiling down at Q. He tried not to worry whether Q was overly enamoured with having taken 007 to bed and had forgotten that who he’d fucked was James. “And I know I’m a good shag, but don’t throw away your new position so quickly.”

“I don’t plan on it, but as I said, they _need_ me.”

“I’m not sure you _did_ say.” James couldn’t help but smirk at his tiny Quartermaster with the big ego.

Q huffed and prodded at James’ knee. “I thought it loudly. And they do need me. Your computer systems have glorious display panels and a touch-based user interface that’s very nearly useful, but the back-end is more antiquated than whatever operating system the dinosaurs used. And they’re mostly extinct.”

 _Mostly extinct?_ James opened his mouth to protest, but the last thing he wanted to do was quibble with a Baskerville employee about something like that, so he let it pass. “I agree we need to be brought into the twenty-first century, and I’m sure you’ll be a perfect fit, but no one’s indispensable, darling.”

Q’s smile went lopsided at that “darling.” “Well, I’d rather not have to worry about getting caught sneaking into your house, even if you are next door, but I’ll do my best if you’re worried about it. Honestly, you’re the first _good_ thing to come out of this whole last-minute emergency move to London.” He blinked a couple of times, smile fading. “Er. If it’s not inappropriate to say, that is.”

It had been a very long time since someone had called James _good,_ and though it warmed him in a way he hadn’t expected, it also made him nervous. Nevertheless, he gave Q a smile and said, “It’s fine. Inaccurate, but fine. I kill people, Q.” He brushed his hand lightly over Q’s hair and down his cheek, adding, “And I’m not asking for stealth, just discretion.”

“Of course.” Q’s grin flashed. “Darling.”

James could handle the ribbing, but to make a point, he pulled his hand away and spread his arms along the back of the couch, pushing his hips forward just slightly. Of course River shoved her nose even further behind him, once there was an inch of room. “It’s safer for everyone if my enemies don’t know who I’m... involved with, never mind my employer.”

“Oh. I... hadn’t quite thought of it that way,” Q admitted. “I’m more accustomed to being at risk of kidnapping, but that was for my own knowledge. Not to be used as leverage against someone else. I’m sorry.”

“This is why married women work out so well. No leverage to be had when you’re the other man in the equation.” James rubbed his shoulder and took another sip of his drink.

“Not married men?”

“Never. Much too volatile. Too much to lose if they’re married to a woman, too much competition if they’re married to a man. Better to pull someone at a gay bar and never even exchange names.” James had no idea why he was talking about this — with his most recent lover of all people. He usually made a point not to talk this much with a conquest, but this didn’t feel like that. He’d been wrong-footed when being neighbourly turned into a seduction without his permission.

Q gave an exaggerated shudder. “Not for me. I’m terrible at clubs or bars. Even neighbourhood pubs are just... _incomprehensible_. I do much better at professional conferences, but there I always had bodyguards.”

“No chance for a quick fuck in an empty meeting room, then?” James couldn’t hide his smirk at the image of two bodyguards posted outside a room where Q was pounding into a fellow computer geek.

“Not in the slightest, no.” Q’s nose wrinkled. “I never thought to say this, but I’m _glad_ I got stuck in that blasted dog door. And that you didn’t shoot me. So thank you again.”

James grinned, oddly pleased. “Lucky thing, that. Thank River for providing such a thorough distraction. And for alerting me to your presence to begin with.” He switched the scotch to his other hand and reached around his back to pet River’s glossy coat. “Well done, pup.”

River’s answering _woo_ was muffled, but her tail thumped violently against the arm of the couch. Q laughed and rolled onto his side so he could give James an awkward half-hug. When he let go, he propped up on his elbow and met James’ eyes. “I don’t suppose you’d let me take you back to bed and thank you properly, hmm?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” James leaned in for a sweet kiss made brief as Q smiled against his lips.

“I believe you said something earlier about fucking me?” Q asked, his voice soft and just a bit rough.

 _Fuck, yes._ James lost his breath for a moment at the thought of sinking into Q’s gorgeous arse. James had been more than willing to bottom earlier, but that damned little arse was the whole reason they were in this situation, and just the suggestion made James’ mouth water and his cock twitch. His voice was lower and darker than he’d meant it to be when he finally found it. “Yes. I’d like that, if you would.”

“I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t interested.” Q gave James another quick kiss, then rolled off the couch and up onto his feet. He picked up his glasses and held out his free hand to James.

James finished off his drink and set the glass aside, then gave Q the hand attached to his good shoulder. Once he was standing he didn’t let go, drawing Q’s hand up to his mouth to brush his lips against the knuckles. “Thank you for offering. Everything. You’ve been wonderful.”

Q’s eyes went heated and dark, and he tightened his hand around James’. “Say that after I’m done with you.”

“Mmm. Gladly.” James’ eyes slid closed as a current of lust flared hotly through him. He tugged on Q’s hand to draw him close and whispered in his ear, “But no rush...”

 

~~~

 

No rush, indeed. Q could get very used to lazing in bed with James, basking in the tingling afterglow, no matter which of them was topping or bottoming. “You’re very...” he said, though he couldn’t figure out how to end that sentence and not sound all sappy. Instead, he turned to kiss James’ jaw, stubble rasping against his lips.

“Prickly? My apologies. I’ll shave if you’d like.” James’ eyes were open, but just barely, and the small smile on his face was approaching fond.

“Only if you like.” Q kissed the stubble deliberately once more, then dragged one corner of a pillow over James’ shoulder. That was, he’d determined, the best way to be both comfortable and close, when they weren’t spooning. “I suppose that we should get some sleep, though? I have severe misgivings about the quality of caffeine available at MI6, and we probably should be somewhat alert when we go in.”

“Sleep. There’s a novel concept.” James shifted slightly and wrapped his arm around Q’s back, then started brushing his hand up and down Q’s spine.

Q all but purred, shivering from his nape all the way to his curled toes. He revelled in the petting for one deliciously self-indulgent minute before he sighed and rolled onto his back, trapping James’ arm. “Brace yourself, darling,” he warned. “Ready?”

James opened his eyes fully, then widened them further when he caught on. “Shit.” He rolled over onto his stomach and tucked his face in between Q’s neck and shoulder. “Ready.”

_“Pizza, River!”_

The saluki thundered up the stairs, skidded, and then leaped onto the bed as if she’d lived here all her life and knew how to judge her landing perfectly. She hit the bed on James’ other side, and she must have nudged him with her cold, wet nose, judging by James’ full-body flinch. Then, with a flash of her tail, she disappeared under the blankets.

“She —” was as far as Q got before that cold, wet nose nudged into him somewhere far too vulnerable. He bit back a yelp and rolled away, leaving a saluki-sized void between himself and James.

River swarmed into that void like a gaseous cloud being sucked into a vacuum. With a contented huff, she flopped down and rolled onto her back, head thrown dramatically up onto the pillows, exposing her throat and jaw.

Her subsequent sigh sounded just a bit smug.

Q rolled back over and looked past River to meet James’ slightly stunned eyes. “Did I mention she sleeps on the bed?”


	4. Chapter 4

Saluki-based interference aside, James couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept so well. At some point in the night, River had retreated to the foot of the bed — under the blankets — leaving James free to pull Q into his arms. Q was a warm, cuddly armful of sharp edges and fluffy hair that James found oddly addictive. He woke up at least once with his nose being tickled by that ridiculous hair, but couldn’t bring himself to turn away.

He indulged in this new, extreme cosiness well past when he normally would’ve got out of bed. But it wouldn’t do to have the new Quartermaster late on his first official day of work, so he finally said, “Q, darling. We really ought to get up.”

“Isolate the code and let it run overnight in the sandbox. The bots can brute force it,” Q answered.

That answered the question that no one was asking of what computer geniuses dreamt about. Smiling despite himself, James tried again. He gently shook Q’s shoulder and kissed his hair, saying, “Sweetheart, it’s late. Wake up.”

“But I haven’t found the bugs yet,” Q protested.

“You’ll have all day, dear. Come on.” James nuzzled between Q’s neck and shoulder, kissing and nipping and rubbing his scruff against Q’s skin.

Q let out the most adorable little sigh and shifted, arching his back against James’ chest. He said something that sounded suspiciously like “Mrph” as he wrapped his arm around James’ as if to hold him in place.

James used the trapped arm to his advantage, pulling Q along with him as he sat up. He supported Q in an upright position as he stooped to bargaining, “If you get up and into the shower, I’ll have tea ready when you get out.”

“Mmm, you’re warm,” Q said, unhelpfully snuggling into James’ arms. He nuzzled James’ neck, then kissed, slow and sweet.

That was definitely not helping them get out of bed. It was, however, helping James wake up, or at least one very specific part of him started to stir. James touched his fingers to Q’s chin and tilted Q’s head up, then kissed him insistently. “Up.” He breathed against Q’s mouth. “Wake up.”

Q’s nose wrinkled, and he blinked a couple of times. “Toothbrush. Check the first aid kit,” he insisted, hiding his face against the side of James’ neck once more. “And tea.”

James huffed. “You have to get up for tea. River, do something with him. I’m going to shower.” James extricated himself from Q’s grasp and got out of bed.

“Lock up the level 2 containment vault while you’re there,” Q said, dropping back down onto the pillows and disappearing under the blankets.

As a last ditch effort, James leaned in close to Q and said, “But darling, there’s pizza in that vault.”

With a startled _“Whoof,”_ River’s head came up — still under the blankets at the foot of the bed. James heard the scrabble of paws on the sheets, and the blanket-monster reared up, only to collapse off the foot of the bed, disappearing from sight.

As the blanket whipped away, Q’s eyes opened. “Wuh?”

 _Success._ Well, sort of. “Good morning, sunshine. Which would you like first, tea or a shower?” James was certain Q was badly in need of both to wake up fully.

“Did the blanket eat the dog?” Q asked, struggling to sit up. James finally took pity on him and helped. “River?”

Struggling not to laugh at both his pet genius and his genius’s pet, James said, “She was a bit over-enthusiastic. I’m sure she’s fine. What about you?”

“Tea. And a shower. You said something about a shower.” Q scrubbed his hands over his face. “Can I come with you?”

It took James a second to parse Q’s sleepy grammar and understand the question. “Into the shower? Of course. But we can’t take all day. It’s getting late.” He held out his hand, willing to haul Q bodily into a standing position, if necessary.

It was. Q was able to get his hand into James’, but that was as far as he got until James gave a tug, ending up with Q’s free arm wrapped around his body. “Mmm. I hate mornings. They shouldn’t be allowed.”

They needed to have a very frank conversation about wake-up protocol if they were going to share a bed with any frequency. But only when Q was awake enough. Until then, James would make do with incentives. “But mornings have tea, and showers with your lover, and handjobs, if you’re lucky.”

“Oh.” Slowly, Q drew back so he could look into James’ eyes. “Good plan, James. Let’s do that.”

 

~~~

 

“Please tell me I don’t look ridiculous,” Q said, even though the truth was right there in the mirror. James’ borrowed shirt — soft and covered with a speckled pattern — clashed at least a little bit with his trousers. Thankfully they’d come clean, except in a couple of subtly brown spots, probably because they were a polyester blend, unlike the permanently-muddy white cotton shirt. Q’s Converse had turned rusty brown instead of vivid red. Only his socks survived unscathed.

“You look, well...” James’ eyes seemed to be trying not to crinkle around the edges, but they were definitely failing. “I hate to say it, but you look adorable, Q.”

“Yes, because that’s the right first impression to make on my subordinates.” Q rubbed at the back of his neck. “I don’t suppose we have time to stop somewhere to buy clothes, do we?”

“Not at this rate. My car’s still across town.” James kissed the back of Q’s head and uncertainly added, “There _might_ be someplace close by...?”

Q sighed. “There’s probably no time. I’ll just... throw on a lab coat or something.”

James frowned. “That would be criminal.”

“What?” Q turned away from the mirror to frown at James. “Why?”

“Your arse is too beautiful to be hidden away like that.” James patted said arse as he passed, headed for the bedroom.

Q groaned and tried to tug the shirt down, even though it was meant to be just past waist-length. In fact, it was too short to tuck into his trousers. “You’re not helping. And now I’m definitely getting a lab coat. And why do _you_ look so bloody... put-together? Effortlessly? It’s not fair.”

“I look like a homeless person,” James called from the other room. He appeared at the bathroom door with a smirk on his scruffy face to add, “It’s the peacoat that makes me look all right, but _for some reason_ it’s covered in mud.”

“You’re the one who wanted to play hero. You could’ve just stolen the dog and let the house eat me.” Q tipped his head thoughtfully. “Can I borrow your peacoat? You can have my anorak. It’s warm.”

“You really _do_ want me to look like a homeless person, don’t you? This isn’t a ‘who wore it better’ competition. I’ll wear my old leather jacket. Once I get to work they’ll put me in a track suit for my requals anyway.” He leaned into the bathroom until his face was in kissing range, and said, “Yes, you can borrow my peacoat. But let me clean it up some, first.”

For that, Q obliged and kissed James’ lips, then the tip of his nose. “You’re very sweet. And you’re sure you don’t mind leaving River here? She can get in and out next door, but I’ve no idea if there’s anything hazardous in the house for her to chew.”

James frowned, his face lined with worry. “Damn. We really do need to pop in there and have a look, but there’s no time. She can stay if she can handle not being let out all day.”

“Oh, she’ll be fine. She’s house-trained for up to twelve hours, though we’ll have to bring her a treat if we make her wait that long. Or I can come by at lunch to let her out.” It was Q’s turn to frown. “If you don’t mind giving me a key, that is.”

“I only have the one set, but I can always pick the locks if I get home before you.” James paused as if caught short, then cautiously continued, “That is, if you’ll be coming over tonight as well.”

Q’s heart skipped. “If... you don’t mind,” he ventured feeling more nervous now than he had when he’d first decided to kiss James, which was absurd. “I could pick up takeaway on the way home, for all three of us.”

James slowly inhaled and then nodded, saying, “That would be lovely. But I have no idea how long my tests will take.”

Q sniffed. “I can put an end to them any time you like, if I can get onto the power grid. But I plan on repaying last night’s lovely dinner, so just tell me what you like. I’ll find a good restaurant on Yelp.”

Smiling fondly, James stepped fully into the bathroom and crowded close to Q’s shoulder, murmuring. “I appreciate the thought, but please don’t end my qualification tests early. I need them to be cleared for active duty, and M wants me in the field as soon as possible.” He leaned his head down and kissed the end of Q’s shoulder.

Qualification tests... Results would be stored —

“No.” Q blinked and met James’ eyes. “No, you can’t requalify.”

“What? No.” James’ face hardened, and Q felt the menace just under the surface. “I’m not useful otherwise. What’s the point of a Double O who can’t be put in the field?”

Q stepped back, holding up his hands, and shook his head. “No. No, I mean, you _should_ go back in the field, but your requalification test results will be stored on a vulnerable server. Whoever attacked MI6 before will probably get them in realtime, for all we know. We can’t have them knowing you’re _ready_ to go in the field.”

James’ eyebrows raised, and the threat in him vanished, the killer falling away like a shed skin. “You’re a bloody genius.” He stepped towards Q, this time to kiss his forehead. “I mean, I never doubted that, but, yes. You’re right. Only... That means M will have to approve me for active duty _despite_ failing.”

“I could probably force the paperwork through without her approval, though it’d be risky,” Q said thoughtfully. “I’d rather not stir up more trouble than there already is.”

“You know...” James’ eyes had gone distant and his expression thoughtful. “She’s already been impatient with me, and I’ve only been ‘alive’ two days. I’m also her most seasoned agent — who’s in the same hemisphere, that is. She very well might approve me even if I fail.”

Slowly, Q smiled. “Think your ego can survive if you fail terribly? I’m more than happy to console you...”

“I won’t fail terribly; she’s just enough of a bitch to teach me a lesson if I’m truly terrible. I do have to try a _little_ bit.” James smiled slyly, saying, “But you can console me all you like, tonight, anyway.”

Q wrapped his arms around James’ body, indulging their closeness for just another moment. Then he stepped back and tugged the shirt back down. “Agreed.”

 

~~~

 

Three locks to pick meant it took about ten minutes for James to get inside, but thankfully the rain had left off sometime in the afternoon. The moment the door was open, a now-familiar _woo_ greeted him, and the scrabble of claws on tile indicated that an attack from River was imminent. James managed to slip inside and turn his back before the over-excited pup slammed into him, but the moment she was on the floor, he crouched to scratch her ears and tell her how pretty she was.

As he was petting River he recognised a delicious smell that he hadn’t experienced in quite some time. It was spicy and sweet and sharp with tomatoes, with the pungent savoury scent of a more uncommon meat. _Lamb tikka masala?_ It was possibly James’ favourite Indian dish, and it practically drew him by the nose to the kitchen.

“Perfect timing,” Q said, looking up from the tablet he was reading at the kitchen table. He set it down and stood, wrinkling his nose. He walked over to James, saying, “Actually, not really. The food’s been in a warm oven for a half hour, but it’s well wrapped, so it won’t dry out. You were wretched on your tests today. Well done.”

James tried to smile but it came out a grimace. “Thank you?” He wrapped his arms around Q’s waist and nosed at his jaw. “I hope you’re prepared to console me; the psych eval was particularly trying, you know.”

Q snickered, breath warm over James’ ear. “It was beautiful. You’re terribly clever, you know. ‘Dancing’ at night, my arse.”

James pulled his head away to see Q’s face. “Do you think so?” The idea that Q thought he was clever made him smirk proudly. “I thought ‘day wasted’ was quite good.” It was only after he spoke that he came to the fact that Q was able to hack into the CCTV to watch the evaluation. It made him feel more exposed than he’d expected, even knowing that M had been watching, if not others as well. He leaned in to kiss the corner of Q’s jaw to hide his face from view.

“I thought M was going to have you shot with your, er, ‘bitch’ comment.” Q hugged him more tightly. “You’re certain she won’t have you sacked for that?”

“She’d have had me sectioned if I’d said anything else.” James’ grin went sharp, as did the tiny clutch on his heart as he spoke. Thinking about M tended to do that, without his permission, but he’d gotten used to it years ago.

“I’m starting to think this entire organisation is half-mad,” Q said, giving James one last kiss before he stepped away. “Go wash your hands. I’ll plate dinner. Or if you want to change, there are clothes upstairs.”

James couldn’t help saying, “You do understand what we _do_ in this organisation, don’t you? Of course we’re all half-mad.” Then he noticed Q was wearing a jumper and he caught hold of Q’s hand to turn him around. “New clothes? Or did you get your suitcase?”

“My extraordinarily unhelpful brother tried to hire a moving service, but I was in secure housing. He was apparently arrested once they realised it was my face on the ID badge and not his.” Q rolled his eyes. “My possessions are now in impound being searched for any... whatever. Contraband. So I just bought us both new clothes online and had them delivered to the office earlier today.”

“Well, aren’t you clever.” James hadn’t got the hang of shopping for clothes online. If he wasn’t going to a tailor and getting measured for something bespoke, he needed to try things on. He didn’t trust sizing charts, even when they were based off centimetres. But Q’s clothes looked like they fit him very well — extremely well in the seat, as a matter of fact. He spun Q around to get a better look, then hummed in approval. “Shall I dress for dinner, then? It smells delicious.”

“You dress; I’ll serve. River’s already had her dinner, and we’ve gone for a walk and played in the back garden a bit.”

“Right. Be down in a tic.” James kissed Q’s cheek and headed upstairs, but he hadn’t got to the top of the flight before everything felt absurdly, even dizzyingly, domestic. He’d spent the last three months revelling in non-existence, which mostly meant drinking too much, sleeping too little, and fucking whomever took his fancy.

But then M had got in trouble, and he’d been pulled back home as if on a tether — the falconer’s call. He’d sworn he could never be domesticated. He was certain M had known that and treated him accordingly, and he’d needed that for so long, in order to feel right coming back each time.

But then Q had slipped into his life as if he’d belonged there, and James couldn’t understand why he didn’t feel the itch. Was it simply that he needed someone to think he wouldn’t be defanged if he lost his desire to prowl? Was that all it took for him to believe it too? In this bloody terraced house, a temporary landing place for them both, could he really feel settled for once in his life?

He walked into the bedroom to find Q hadn’t just picked up a T-shirt or vest at the local H&M. There as an entire shipping box, opened, sitting on the bed, which was still a disarrayed mess from River’s antics this morning. Inside, James found jeans and trousers, two dress shirts, a three-pack of white vests, a package of socks — black dress socks, not white athletic socks — and another of pants, and underneath it all, a set of flannel pyjamas and a thick dressing gown. The only things he’d skipped, in fact, were another belt and pair of shoes.

“Bless you, Quartermaster,” James murmured as he began to strip. His damned shoulder made things harder than he expected — must have been the extra exertion today during his fitness tests — but within a couple of minutes he was fully changed and feeling much more human. A good shave, and he’d feel downright civilized. Not yet, he decided. The shave could wait. Q seemed to enjoy his scruff.

As he headed downstairs the smell of Indian food engulfed his nose and his stomach growled. He arrived in the kitchen to find Q had plated the food but hadn’t bothered with drinks. He was lurking by the sink, rather than sitting — perhaps because River had melted into a furry puddle under the table.

“This had the highest recommendations on Yelp, but if you don’t like it, there’s p-i-z-z-a in the fridge,” he said with an almost shy smile. “You’ll also have to choose the wine. I wasn’t sure what would go best. Or would you rather have water? Your file says drinking is one of your known bad habits. Did the clothes fit? They look all right. I had your measurements.” It all came out in a breathless rush.

It was adorable, and James couldn’t help but stare as Q wrung his hands nervously. He nodded and turned a full circle for Q to admire the fit — not quite as good as Q’s own, but close enough — then stepped close and looked Q in the eye to say, “You’ve done marvellously, Quartermaster. The clothes are just right, lamb tikka masala is a favourite of mine, we’ll have white with dinner, and the p-i-z-z-a can be a midnight snack.” Then he smiled cheekily and added, “I look forward to showing you my gratitude after we eat.”

“Good. Business first, then,” Q said, giving James a slow, toe-curling kiss that James could still feel on his lips when Q stepped away. “I can’t trust anything that Q Branch made. Not only are some of the devices hideously untested — who on earth thought exploding sheep were a good idea? I’m afraid we’re going to have to go low-tech for your hunt. Or, well, as low tech as I’ll allow, which means upgrading your smartphone at the very least.”

The last thing James wanted to think about during dinner was the mission he hadn’t finished qualifying for, but Q’s eyes lit up when he talked about work, and James couldn’t deny him a bit of happiness at feeling useful and competent. “All right. Whatever you feel is best. I rarely need more than a gun, anyway.”

Q smiled in relief, then turned to take two wine glasses out of the drying rack. “Oh, you’ll also need to be careful during tomorrow’s tests. You’ve got flexibility and strength, I think. You did well on favouring your shoulder, but you don’t want to push it too far or you could do yourself a genuine injury.” He brought the glasses to the table, then sat down.

James grabbed a bottle of white wine from the fridge and the bottle opener from a drawer, then followed Q to the table, saying, “I think I _have_ a genuine injury. Well, I certainly _had_ one. I got shot twice in that shoulder, and it doesn’t seem to have healed right.”

“What?” Q’s eyes went wide. “You’re _actually_ — Do I need to ask why you haven’t gone to Medical?”

“I was dead at the time. And now it’s healed over.” James shrugged, unconcerned. “Besides, they’ll put me on leave, and you know there’s no time for that.” He focused on opening the wine instead of looking at Q.

“How do you expect me to send you out into the field if you’re wounded?” Q protested as James poured the wine. “What if it — I don’t know — interferes with your movement at a critical moment? You have a terrible habit of putting your life at risk as it is.”

“It’s not a wound, Q. It’s just... painful. I’ll look at it later and see if there’s something I can do.” James held up his own glass and handed Q his. “Cheers, darling.”

Q huffed and touched his glass to James’. “I can suddenly see my own future. Keeping your arse intact in the field is going to be the death of me.”

James smiled indulgently and took a sip of wine, then said, “I do very well keeping my own arse intact, thank you. Alec and I do a very good job on our own.”

“Yes, well, now I have a vested interest in your arse, at least, so you’ll take better care of it,” Q said sternly, even going so far as to point his fork at James in a vaguely threatening manner.

James smirked as he picked up his own fork and piled it with fragrant rice, spicy lamb, and creamy sauce. “Yes, sir, Quartermaster.”


	5. Chapter 5

_Calm and composed,_ Q told himself, trying to allow the peace of the National Gallery to soothe him. The problem was, he loathed art — the hidden meanings in paintings were utterly incomprehensible to him — and the place was packed with security cameras, any one of which could be under observation not just from MI6 security goons but from their still-unknown enemy, the person or persons who’d hired the assassin named Patrice.

And it didn’t help in the least that James was a bloody _idiot_. Not thirty-six hours ago, he’d agreed to do his best to keep his skin intact, and what did he do? _Hacked it open himself_. Q had worked half the night to identify the shrapnel fragments and then spent the rest of the night cursing James under his breath and trying not to let his anger and worry interfere with the delicate electronic work he’d done. He’d finished, too, much to the awe of his staffers, which counted for something.

Of course, he still wanted to roll up a newspaper and smack James in the back of the head with it. Really, cutting a bullet out of his own skin? What point was he trying to prove?

Grumbling to himself, Q walked to the bench and sat down next to James. It took all his self-control to keep from touching him. As it was, it took him a good six seconds before he was able to identify the hideous smudge of gold and black that was supposed to be a warship of some sort.

He thought back to the pamphlet he’d read, reminded himself not to swear openly at James, and finally said, “Always makes me feel a little melancholy. A grand old warship being ignominiously hauled away for scrap.” He sighed and added, _sotto voce,_ “If you ever perform surgery on yourself again, I’ll use a Taser on you.” Then, staring fixedly at the painting, he said, “The inevitability of time, don’t you think? What do you see?”

“A bloody big ship,” James said, flatly. He was cross for some stupid, stubborn reason, possibly from the verbal hiding Q had given him, or maybe because he’d had to sleep with only River last night. He added under his breath, “Twelve times, dear. With Alec’s help, fifteen. I’m _fine.”_ Then he had the gall to move as if to stand up and leave, saying, “Excuse me.”

Q’s fingers twitched. He was going to kill _both_ of them. Slowly. Repeatedly. “I’m your new Quartermaster,” he said, reminding James precisely which of them was in charge here. It was about time someone reined in his suicidal impulses.

James kept his seat but rolled his eyes. “You must be joking.” He was repeating himself. Whether it was purposeful or not — or responding to Q’s reminder or not — Q couldn’t tell.

“Why? Because I’m not wearing a lab coat?” Q asked casually, though he realised he might’ve gone too far. James had run off-lead for years. Decades, even. And you caught more agents with honey than with vinegar... Softly, Q added, “I will, for you.”

“And nothing else?” James shot back, lips hardly moving. There was a familiar light in his eyes.

_Victory_ , Q thought, certain now that James would at least make _some_ effort to take care of himself. He nodded, barely a twitch of his head. He’d be happy to parade around the house in a lab coat and nothing else if it would help bring James safely back home.

James grimaced and shot a lightning-quick apologetic look Q’s way. “Because you still have spots.”

Q snorted. The only “spots” he had were freckles on his arse that James had been more than happy to trace with his fingers and tongue, but now probably wasn’t the time to discuss them. “My complexion is hardly relevant.”

“Well, your competence is.” James caught Q’s eye and shifted on the bench. He’d just yesterday complimented Q on his extreme competence.

Q had to keep from doing something silly, like winking. “Age is no guarantee of efficiency,” he said, finally giving in and letting his knee brush against James’. Even through their layers of clothing, the contact was electric. More than that, though, it was warming. Comforting.

The smallest sigh escaped from James’ lips, and Q struggled to hide a smile. “And youth is no guarantee of innovation.” James blinked as if he were trying not to wink as well.

Unable to resist the bait, Q said, “I’ll hazard I can do more damage on my laptop sitting in my pyjamas before my first cup of Earl Grey than you can do in a year in the field.” Softly, he added, “Unless you distract me.”

“Oh? So why do you need me?” James turned to look expectantly at Q, a cheeky light in his eyes.

The weight in Q’s pocket inspired him to answer, “Every now and then, a trigger has to be pulled.”

“Mmm...” James’ hum was the lowest rumble, and Q could feel it through their seat. For a split second, Q thought James was going to say something like, “I thought you’d never ask,” but thankfully, he behaved. He regretfully replied, “Or not pulled. It’s hard to know which in your pyjamas.”

_Right,_ Q thought, accepting the reprimand with grace. They were here for business, not pleasure. He gave James a little nod.

After a moment of fond “assessment,” James held out his hand and said, “Q.” The name in James’ mouth sounded intimate, even in this setting.

“007.” Q clasped James’ hand and refused to let himself think that this might be the last time they touched. James had defied death often enough that Q suspected, based solely on his stack of after action reports, that he was immortal. Reluctantly he let go and took an envelope out of his coat pocket. James’ travel documents were inside. Q had been tempted to add something personal, but there was no way to know who else might handle them. “Ticket to Shanghai. Documentation and passport,” he said, trusting James to know how very thorough Q had been in covering his electronic tracks. Not a single alert would go off — facial recognition, border crossing flags, none of them.

James’ “thank you” seemed heartfelt, and possibly encompassed more than the documents.

Q took the box from his jacket. It was compact and lighter than it looked, being mostly foam and plastic. He’d considered leaving it behind, but the idea of carrying an unholstered gun in his pocket was foolish. And how was he supposed to pass it? In a brown paper bag? They’d be arrested on suspicion of dealing drugs.

“And this. Walther PPK/S 9 millimetre short. There’s a micro-dermal sensor in the grip. It’s been coded to your palm print, so only you can fire it,” Q said, getting momentarily lost in his explanation of where he’d been last night. The technology had been in prototype phase, at least until Q had got his hands on it. “Less of a random killing machine; more of a personal statement.”

James looked up from the box, his expression unguarded and his eyes clear, and Q didn’t think he imagined the look of understanding and gratitude he saw there. James looked as though he wanted to say something personal, but instead he paused and looked back down at the box. He pointed to the empty space in the foam in the bottom corner, asking, “And this?”

After a deep breath, Q took the transmitter from his pocket. The casing was still off by a fraction of a millimetre — enough that he could feel it with his fingertips, though surely he was being picky. “Standard issue radio transmitter,” he said, though it was anything but.

The casing was MI6 standard, yes, but Q had built a new control board and smuggled it out of MI6 in his shoe. He’d destroyed the old transmitter by dropping it on the rails in a Tube station. _This_ transmitter had never gone near anyone’s desk but his own.

“It’s clean and upgraded,” he muttered as he passed the radio to James, unable to resist brushing his fingers over James’ skin one last time. More clearly, he added, “Activate it, and it broadcasts your location. Distress signal. And that’s it.”

Fitting the radio into its spot in the foam, James said, “A gun... and a radio.” He closed the box, then looked up at Q with a twinkle in his eye. “Not exactly Christmas, is it?”

“You said you hate Christmas,” Q accused in a quiet whisper, biting his cheek to keep from grinning.

Murmuring without even moving his lips, James answered, “I wouldn’t if you’d give me a gun like this. Or one of your other toys...”

As if Q was going to turn James loose in Q Branch’s vaults of untested prototypes? Not hardly. “Were you expecting an exploding pen?” he asked dryly, giving James a _look_. “We don’t really go in for that anymore.”

 _There_ was the wink. And an almost breathless whisper, “Not even a sheep?”

“The sheep are gone for good,” Q murmured. He had set aside one of them, but only to rebuild it as a remote control chase-toy for River. That would be a fun surprise for James to find when he got home from the mission.

He rose, telling himself it was time to leave, only to freeze in his tracks. Intellectually, he knew this wasn’t the last time he’d ever see James alive, but emotions weren’t rational. And there was always the chance, however minuscule, that James _wouldn’t_ return from this mission.

They’d known each other for only a handful of days, and already James was one of the most important people in Q’s life. He couldn’t say if it was love or lust or just a heady combination of neurochemicals, but whatever it was, he wanted more.

And he suspected James felt the same. Because otherwise, the notorious Agent 007 would never have shared his bed for two nights in a row, much less given him a key to the not-so-safe safehouse.

“Good luck out there in the field,” he said, trying to put all of his feelings into that simple, professional phrase.

James nodded and swallowed, then whispered, “Thanks, love.”

Two words, but they pierced right through Q’s fragile social armour and made his eyes sting. He had to turn away as if leaving and swallow just to clear his throat. Then he turned back, and silently mouthed, _You’re welcome_. _Love_.

A blink. Two. And though he was looking carefully, Q couldn’t tell if James was giving him a sign of recognition or holding back emotion.

What Q really wanted to do was to yell at James for being reckless on his missions, but he couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Even if they’d been alone, he wouldn’t undermine James’ confidence and freedom to act as the mission required. So instead, he gave a directive that was within his scope of authority: “And please return the equipment in one piece.”

Meaning James. Because they both knew that Q didn’t give a damn about the gun or the GPS tracker.

“Yes, sir,” James murmured to show he understood.

With one last smile, Q turned to leave. James _would_ be careful, and Q would bend every resource MI6 could offer to help bring James home safely.

And a moment later, as he walked towards the exit, he heard James say, “Brave new world.”

_Yes_ , thought the new Quartermaster of MI6. _Yes, it is._


End file.
